Sick
by Narnian at Heart
Summary: Daryl Dixon is as tough as they come and then some...but even unsinkable ships can be sunk. Carol/Daryl friendship fluff. Inspired by the flu ;)


**Thought of this story today as I was laying in bed with a very upset stomach and a throbbing, pounding, ridiculously painful migraine. How inspiring...and yet I found myself inspired.**

**Here's the results.**

**TWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWD**

Carol was pretty sure she'd never met someone as tough as Daryl Dixon. The man was like a freaking freight train, nothing could stop him once he got his mind on something. He pushed through pain, stitched himself up if he had to, pulled freaking arrows out of his side in the wrong direction, and he still kept moving...which is why when he told Rick he couldn't take watch and ran from the cell block without his crossbow, Carol knew something was wrong.

She followed him after she'd gone up to his perch to grab his beloved weapon and when she found him, she thought she'd never seen such a pitiful sight in her life. Daryl Dixon, tough as nails and hard as steel Daryl Dixon, was curled into a fetal position on the floor in front of one of the toilets in the community style bathroom, he didn't seem to care how disgusting the floor was and Carol noticed he'd definitely emptied his already empty stomach into said toilet. She heard him swallow thickly and let out a shaky breath before he realized he wasn't alone by the sound of her footsteps walking over. He looked over his shoulder and squinted his pain-filled, cloudy eyes at her.

"Damn it, go away," he complained weakly, "Can't a man get no privacy around here?"

"You forgot this," Carol offered the crossbow as an excuse, but truth be told she'd followed out of concern.

Daryl looked at the crossbow, then back to her and sighed heavily.

"That was fuckin' stupid of me," he muttered. Suddenly, he sat up quickly and leaned over the toilet as his stomach contracted visibly and his shoulders jerked forward as another series of dry heaves wracked his frame. He leaned there for a moment, his arms shaking as they supported him over the porcelain, then he sat back with a moan. "Ain't even nothin' to chuck up, ya damn stomach."

Carol felt a twinge of worry for him and she reached out without thinking and placed her palm against his forehead.

"Daryl Dixon!" she shrieked, "You're as hot as a jalapeno's ass!"

"Thanks, Carol, but now's no time to be flirtatious," Daryl tried to joke, but his weak smile fell short and he swallowed hard to fight back another heave. Then he gave a weak chuckle. "Hot as a jalapeno's ass...never heard that one before."

"Glad I could amuse you, but I'm not even kidding!" Carol was not amused, she knelt down and started poking and prodding and feeling his skin all over. "Do you feel chilly? Can you see straight? Do you feel really weak?"

"Yeah, it's kinda cold in here," Daryl admitted, "And no, I can't really focus and my head feels like it's gonna explode. And, no I ain't weak!"

To prove his point, Daryl went to pull himself into a standing position but found himself unable to stand steady and he began to sway on his feet. Carol pushed him into the wall to give him something to support himself with and she looked at him with great concern.

"Daryl, you look awful," she murmured, "You're going to take it easy until you're over this."

"Can't," Daryl muttered, making to move away from the wall and leave, "Got shit t' do. Rick needs me to..."

"Rick needs you, yes," Carol pushed him firmly back into the cool cement of the wall again to prevent him leaving, "But he needs you healthy. You're no good to nobody in this condition."

Daryl almost looked like he was going to argue for a second, but then his face went a sickly grey color and he was down on his knees at the toilet again, dry heaving and coughing. He sagged heavily when he finally stopped and he sighed.

"Maybe you're right," he said softly. "What do you want me to do?"

Carol reached down and put her arms around him and helped him stand. She let him lean on her slightly and handed him the crossbow, then she led him slowly back to the cell block and into one of the currently unoccupied cells.

"I don't wanna sleep in no cage," Daryl complained as she sat him down on the bottom bunk inside the cell.

"It's only until you feel better," Carol assured him, seeing the look on his face. "I promise, I'll leave the bars open and nobody would lock you in here, ok? I just need you somewhere accessible if I'm going to take care of you."

"Carol, you don't have to..."

"Hush, Daryl," Carol put a finger to his lips and gave him a stern look. "This is my role in this group, please don't take that from me. Let me help you."

Daryl eyed her thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded as he laid back on the bed and pulled the pillow over his face to block out the light creeping in through the windows that was digging knives into his skull it seemed.

"I'll be right back," Carol patted his arm and headed for the kitchen where she got one of the now empty buckets from the pantry and brought it back to the cell. "Here. If you need to throw up, do it in this please. As much as I love you, Daryl, I don't feel like cleaning that up."

Daryl's mouth curled into a half-hearted smile from under the edge of the pillow and he nodded a tiny nod.

Carol's next step was to go see what could be of use in the infirmary. She found some ice packs in the fridge that contained a lot of vaccines and meds that had to be kept cold and she put them in a medical bag, then she found some Tylenol in one of the cupboards and took two of them with her back to the cell and sat down on the bunk by Daryl's hip.

"Here," she whispered, taking the cold packs out of the bag, "Can you sit up and take these for me?"

Daryl moved the pillow reluctantly and sat up slowly, the look on his face was pure misery and his hair stuck up oddly from the position of the pillow and Carol smiled.

"Here," she handed him a bottle of water and the pills and he downed them quickly. "Now, I have a few crackers for you to eat with those pills or they'll do more harm than good. Think you can stomach them?"

"I can sure as hell try to," Daryl grumbled, accepting the plastic encased butter crackers with a grunt. They waited for a moment to see if they would stay down and then Carol made him lay back again and started placing the cold packs strategically. Under his knees, in his armpits and she made to go stick one between his legs. "Geez, woman, I'm already freezing as it is, why you stickin' ice blocks on me. And don't be stickin' ice there!"

"You have a fever, Daryl," Carol explained calmly, "You may feel cold, but you're body's just trying to compensate for the spike in your temperature. It may be miserable for a little bit but it'll bring your fever down and you'll feel a lot better. I promise."

Daryl relaxed a little and even let her slid the last pack against his groin, eliciting a sharp hissing inhale from him as she did.

"Damn that's cold," he muttered, making Carol giggle as she stood up.

"Now, get plenty of rest and drink as much water as you can so you rehydrate yourself," she ordered.

"Alright, but what do I do about the damn headache?" Daryl asked her miserably. "I ain't never had one this bad."

"How does it feel?" Carol asked suspiciously.

"Like...my head's gonna rip open. I can FEEL it throbbing from the inside."

"Does it feel like...smacking it into the wall would be a relief?" Carol ventured. Daryl looked at her funny for a moment but nodded. "That's probably a migraine. Sorry, I know how horrible those are, I use to get them a lot. But all you can do is stay in a dark environment and try to go to sleep, when you wake up, it should be gone now that you took that Tylenol."

Daryl sniffed and nodded, leaning back and looking so much like a sad puppy that Carol felt her heart squeeze sympathetically. She sat back down and leaned forward, placing her fingertips on his the sides of his head. He eyed her curiously for a second but when she pressed firmly into his temples and began slow, small circles of pressure, his eyes fluttered closed and he groaned as relief rushed into his pounding skull. It was a miracle, this pressure, and he found himself starting to drift into sleep as she continued the motions and smiled down at him. Maybe it wasn't the massage so much as it was knowing Carol was the one doing it.

When she stood to leave, the pain was lessened a little and Daryl felt like maybe he could actually sleep. He gave her a grateful smile before he rolled onto his side to face the dark wall and pulled the pillow over his head again to block the rest of the light. He felt Carol take the ice packs and reposition them because of his movement, but he was asleep before he felt her lips press gently into his shoulder.

"Feel better, Daryl," she whispered, "We need you."

**TWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWDTWD**

**I wish I had someone to take care of me today when I felt like this. The "pounding your head into the wall would feel like relief" is taken from my own migraine experiences...seriously, they hurt bad enough to contemplate suicide (not really...well maybe...). Anyway, yeah, that temple massage would have been stellar today.**


End file.
